First Name Basis
by vanityfair
Summary: Miss Granger and Professor Snape make the awkward transition to Hermione and Severus...or is that 'Mione and Sevie? Throw in a game of MASH and you have a humorous look at the nature of first names.
1. Miss Granger

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. The First Name Ceremony is a tradition where I went to college and I have no idea if they do it anywhere else.

**First Name Basis**

"We have a tradition here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore had told the seventh years that morning. "After the Leaving Feast, those students leaving us for the last time line up and shake the hands of your professors, calling them by their first name. It's symbolic of your transition from student to equal, from child to adult. I hope that you will find the experience special."

Hermione had balked at the announcement. She didn't like being reminded that she would have to soon leave the one place where she felt comfortable and safe. Hogwarts was a sanctuary, not only because of the war that raged between good and evil outside its walls, but because she found purpose and belonging here.

Most of her classmates were excited to shrug off the confines of school, but there was no library full of books to be read, there were no essays to write and rewrite until the perfect turn of phrase was found, there were no Professors willing to discuss the latest points of theory with her outside in the real world.

Calling her professors by their first names only forced her to accept that she would no longer be a student. She didn't even know if she could do anything else. Were there jobs writing essays on obscure points of Arithmancy? She didn't think so, but if there were, they probably didn't pay well.

Professor McGonagall, or was it Minerva now, had told her in her career counseling sessions that she "could do anything." Hermione had found that to be the most useless piece of drivel yet. She knew it was meant to be both complimentary and encouraging, but 'anything' could mean 'everything' and how was she to choose? She didn't even know most of what was available to her.

Besides it would be awkward to suddenly switch from 'Professor' and 'Sir' to their given names. It implied a certain amount of intimacy that would be forced upon them. She wondered briefly if the teachers felt the same way. Was this another hare-brained idea of the headmaster's?

But then again most of her professors already called her Hermione, so it wouldn't be such a switch for them. The only one who had refrained had been Professor Snape. Miss Granger—he had called her nothing else in her seven years at school, unless you counted the times he had insulted her by saying she was a know-it-all.

And now, in less than two weeks she would have to call him Severus. She didn't like the prospect. She had, of course, heard others call him that at 12 Grimmauld Place, but to her, she thought, he would always be Professor Snape. His imposing figure and permanent scowl demanded respect. How often had she reminded Harry to call him Professor and now they were being told, no encouraged, to forget all that and address him by his first name.

She knew she was obsessing over this, but it was what she did. She tired of stressing over NEWTs, she had spent the two years since OWLs doing that. This, at least, provided fodder for her other than tests and Voldemort.

And what if….? No, surely not. She had a tendency to talk when she shouldn't or more than was needed, but even she had the good sense not to…. Damn Lavender and Parvati and their stupid games.

In the last year they had started playing this stupid game where names of boys were chosen and then after some sort of complex and magical formula, (one Hermione had yet to figure out despite her interest in Arithmancy,) you were told who would marry, where you would live, and how many kids you would have. It undoubtedly came from that insect Trelawney, but they had forced her into it in a moment of weakness.

"Okay, now pick six guys," they had told her.

"Six!"

"Well, Ron and Harry, naturally. So four more," Parvati said.

"Why don't you choose for me." This of course had been her fatal mistake.

"Ooh, okay, well write down Neville," Lavender told Parvati.

"And Dean," Parvati added, her quill scratching furiously while Hermione watched bored and wishing that Madame Pince hadn't fallen ill.

"Ok, but we need some people outside of Gryffindor…how about Malfoy?"

Hermione frowned deeply but it only seemed to encourage Parvati more as she wrote down Draco's name with relish. She suddenly realized why most of her close friends were male.

"Oh! And we need a professor!" Lavender said, getting more and more excited.

"Why?" Hermione asked bewildered.

"I would think it's obvious. A brainy girl like you needs someone who can match her intellect, now let's see..."

"That's hardly fair," she protested. "Most of the male professors are ancient, and Binns is even dead!"

"Hmm you're right," Parvati said, and for one brief, shining, beautiful moment Hermione had thought she had been freed the embarrassment of possibly being paired with Dumbledore or Flitwick.

"What about Snape?" Lavender chimed in. Hermione's face fell, screwing up in a look of distaste.

It had gotten even worse when after ten minutes of figuring the pair had informed her that her intended was indeed Professor Snape, and apparently they were to live in a shack with four children.

As if the Potions master would ever condescend to live in a shack, she rather thought his tastes were above that. And he hated children! That much was obvious on a daily basis. Besides all that she would never marry him in the first place, although perhaps that should have been her first assertion.

"You better get used to calling him Severus. It would be weird yelling for Professor Snape to take out the garbage or put the kids to bed, wouldn't it?" Lavender had said with an evil laugh.

"Not Severus…but Sevie," Parvati had countered. They had laughed so hard they had fallen off Hermione's bed, which was good because she had been getting ready to shove them off anyway.

"This is a stupid game," she had spat before storming out of the room in search of better company.

But the name had stuck with her. When he filed past her desk in Potions, his overly large nose sniffing out any mistakes, she couldn't help but smile at the thought of her, or anyone else for that matter, calling him Sevie. When he insulted her until tears stung her eyes, she held them back by thinking of answering back with an equally sarcastic retort punctuated by calling him Sevie. It was her own private joke that somehow made him seem more human.

Except now she would have to call him by his first name to his face. What if she slipped up and the little nickname she had used for months now slipped out.

She mustn't let that happen.

TBC


	2. Hermione

A/N: I'm amazed at the response this story has gotten! Thanks to everyone who reviewed and extra points to those who correctly guessed that Lavender and Parvati were playing MASH, my elementary school favorite. Although that chapter is really based on late nights in the sorority house when we would play a game called Destiny. I, like Hermione, never quite understood the rules, but professors often made the lists!

**Chapter Two**

Hermione's mother had once told her that one day she would give herself an ulcer if she kept worrying the way she did. But it was a part of her, something she couldn't help. It would be like telling a dog to stop barking and do something else in his free time.

"Thank you Severus," she muttered under her breath a few days after NEWTs. The Leaving Feast was only days away and the prospect of slipping up had frightened her to the point that she had been practicing saying Professor Snape's name.

In truth, she had practiced all her professors' names and she felt fairly confident about Minerva and Albus. It had taken quite a lot of research to finally figure out Professors Vector and Sinistra's first names but she was ready. Ready for everyone but Snape.

"Are you talking to yourself again, Hermione?" Ron asked, looking at her worriedly.

"I know we complain that you talk too much," Harry said.

"And about boring things," Ron cut in.

"But we wouldn't mind listening if you really need someone to talk to," Harry assured her, putting his hand on her shoulder.

How nice of them to remind her that they didn't usually care to listen to her go on about Arithmancy or Transfiguration, but then again, she bored even herself sometimes.

"It's nothing really. I'm just a little nervous about leaving that's all." They shook their heads in agreement but moved quickly onto the next subject. She sighed softly before delving into the finer points of the Chudley Cannons' chances of winning the division finals. They were boys, they didn't talk about their feelings and honestly she didn't feel like explaining the reasons why she was nervous about the Leaving Feast. The more she dwelled on it, the more likely she would make a mistake, she concluded.

The Leaving Feast arrived much more quickly than she would have liked. She didn't eat too much; too nervous about what was to follow. After the younger students had left the room, the teachers, headed up by Professor Dumbledore, lined up on one side while the seventh years followed suit on the other. Slowly the two lines merged and congratulations and thank yous were exchanged.

"Ah, my dear boy," she heard the headmaster exclaim to the student in front of her. "Congratulations Neville."

"Thank you Albus," Neville replied shyly before moving down the line. She was next. Taking a big breath, she stepped forward, holding out the small gift she had bought earlier that week in Hogsmeade.  
"These are for you, Prof…"

"Hermione," Dumbledore said with a stern look—stern but full of mischief.

"I mean, Albus. Sorry, sir." She handed him the package.

"What are they?" he asked curiously, inspecting the plastic bag full of bright orange mounds.

"Circus peanuts. It's a muggle candy. Personally, I think they are disgusting so I knew they would be just up your alley." He smiled at her.

"Thank you child," he said. She threw her arms around him suddenly and without warning. She couldn't help it; she couldn't believe she was actually leaving.

"There, there," he said, comforting her and patting her back. "Most people give me books, but I can't wait to try these." Pulling out of her embrace, he opened the small bag of candy, reached in, and popped one in his mouth. She watched in anticipation.

"Revolting! I love them!" he exclaimed with a twinkle in his eye.

Hermione moved on through the line, tears pricking her eyes as she hugged each professor. The very last, however, was the one she had dreaded the most. She wiped her eyes and approached him with her head held high.

"I hope you don't expect the same sappy and sentimental send-off from me," Snape sneered.

"Of course not."

"Because the truth is I have anxiously awaited this day for the last seven years."

"That comes as no surprise after the abominable way you've treated me," she retorted.

"Just because I didn't coddle you…"

"Despite the fact that I dreaded Potions for the last seven years I did learn a few things along the way and I just wanted to say thank you," she interrupted. He stared at her in disbelief for several moments before taking her proffered hand.

"Congratulations, _Hermione_," he said. She had never imagined that her name could sound like that, like melted chocolate or crushed velvet. There wasn't the normal sneer attached to it, even if the underlying sarcasm was still there. She knew that he was being patronizing and condescending, but still, it sounded nice all the same.

"Thank you Sevie," she answered without thinking. The effect of hearing her first name on his lips had brought bizarre images of that shack Parvati and Lavender had told her about. Her mind had just progressed to the four kids and the process of getting kids when she realized what she had done.

"What did you just call me?" he hissed, squeezing her hand so tight she thought he might break the bones. After all that practice and she had done the one thing she had feared. How was she supposed to explain this? Would he even accept an explanation? Was there one?

"Thank you Severus. I mean, sir. Thank you, sir," she stammered. He glared at her with cold black eyes. He hadn't liked her little nickname, just as she had thought.

"You're lucky I can no longer deduct house points, Miss Granger," he said with a scowl but still holding onto her hand. Of course if he had been in the position to take points then they wouldn't be in this ridiculous situation in the first place. She ached to point that out to him but she had already gotten herself into trouble, she didn't want to make it worse by being cheeky.

"I'm sorry but let's let bygones be bygones, shall we? We are both_ adults_ after all aren't we?" She said in her most adult voice, (she had been practicing that too.)

"How very mature of you," he simpered but then pulled her closer so that only she could hear what he said next. "But if I hear that name cross your lips again you are going to be very sorry. Are we clear on that?"

She blanched and wrenched her hand from his. Rubbing where he had gripped her so tightly, she steeled herself and met his hard gaze.

"Seven years has taught me, if nothing else, that your bark is worse than your bite, Sevie," she said and then she walked away—quickly.

Reaching the stairs, she sprinted up them and hurried to the portrait of the Fat Lady as fast as her legs would carry her. Her Gryffindor Courage had allowed her to make her parting remarks to Snape. Pride had kept her from looking back over her shoulder as she hurried away, though her ears were pricked and attuned to any movements that sounded like angry middle-aged men with wands, but Prudence told her to get away as fast as possible.

Flopping down on her bed she took a moment to breathe and process what she had just done. The nice thing about leaving at least was that she wouldn't have to see him again—ever. Well, except for at Order meetings, and if she took that apprenticeship with Minerva, and the Wizarding community wasn't that large she was bound to run into him sometime. Oh god, what was she going to do?

TBC


	3. Hermie

**Chapter Three**

While everyone else celebrated, noisily heading to the train, Hermione fretted and worried. What was she going to say the next time she saw him? Would he bring it up?

Maybe she would get lucky and he would just ignore her. He had certainly proved skillful at that in the last seven years; she had finally stopped raising her hand at his questions around the middle of sixth year. She recalled with bitterness how he had commented saying "Not as quick as some of your other professors claim are we Miss Granger? It only took you six and a half years to learn to keep your hand down and your mouth shut."

On second thought he deserved the little nickname he despised so much. Given enough time she was certain she could think of more apt ones. But when she saw him a week later in the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place she forgot her ire and the fear and respect that he inspired in her took its place.

"Good evening Professor Snape," she said automatically and then cursed herself for speaking at all. She had meant to avoid the man like the plague, pretty much like everyone but Albus did, but perhaps it was better to end it here and now.

"Ah so it's back to Professor is it?" he asked snidely.

"I thought you might prefer it but if you'd rather me call you Sevie, that's fine," she snapped back.

"You may call me whatever you wish as long as you harbor a death wish, _'Mione_."

"I hate that name!" she exclaimed without thinking.

"Oh I had so hoped you would," he purred.

Of course he had been trying to retaliate. She should have known better than to allow him the upper hand so easily.

"Or how about Hermie? I rather like that one myself," he continued.

"I'm going to kill Lavender and Parvati," she muttered under her breath. They had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Because of them she was arguing with the Potions Professor about calling her Hermie.

"What was that?" he asked sharply. "I fail to see how Miss Brown and Miss Patil have anything to do with this."

"This all started because of some stupid game that Lavender and Parvati made me play this past winter."

And with that she spilled the whole story. She probably could have left out the part about the four kids and the shack, but once she started she couldn't stop. He stood there looking at her oddly, but for the first time in her memory he didn't cut her off. He seemed transfixed by her tale.

"Is this some sort of sick joke?" he hissed when she finally finished. His face contorted with anger. And then it suddenly dawned on her why he had been so offended at her moniker. He had thought she had been making fun of him. After years of being called 'Snivellus' he hadn't taken to her shortened version of his name and frankly she didn't blame him.

But had she been making fun of him? She could hardly tell. Normally she was his staunchest defender when Ron and Harry called him names or even when they forgot the title of Professor.

No, she decided, she hadn't meant it to poke fun but as a term of affection, of endearment. Somewhere along the way she had developed a crush for her hated Potions Professor. The same man that openly mocked her, never commenting on her potions except to criticize, and had never said a kind word to her and she _liked_ him? It seemed impossible.

Why couldn't she have liked someone sensible like Ron? Ron who liked to have a good laugh, who kept her from becoming too serious, and who was not only her own age but happened to be a decent human being.

She had become one of those girls who liked "dangerous men," or maybe it was just because he was in a position of authority over her. She had heard of girls liking their professors before but not the hateful, mean, and spiteful ones. It was a 'sick joke' as Snape had so aptly put it, a sick joke played on them by cruel Fate.

"No, sir. I'm afraid it's no joke. It never would have happened if Madame Pince hadn't fallen ill that week. Being forced to stay indoors with Lavender and Parvati is a dangerous thing."

"So it would seem," he snarled, but he regarded her seriously.

"A shack and four kids?" he asked a moment later. His anger seemed to have abated somewhat. She nodded.

"I hardly doubt you would ever condescend to live in a shack Miss Granger. And as for children, I detest them. I see enough during the day; I certainly wouldn't want to come home to four more."

"Of course not, sir."

"Besides, I would never marry you. Especially if you insisted on calling me by that horrible name."

"And I would, I'm afraid," she said with a mischievous smile. This conversation had certainly taken quite the turn, she thought.

"Then it's settled. Misses Brown and Patil are blithering idiots," Snape concluded.

"Prime examples of wasted potential," she lamented.

"You give them too much credit by assuming they had any potential to start with," he said with a scowl.

Ah, there was the cruel and hateful man she knew and loved. She should have known the playfulness wouldn't last long. Then as though suddenly aware and embarrassed by the duration, and certainly, the content of their conversation, he checked his watch.

"I'm looking for Bill Weasley. Have you seen him?" he asked impatiently.

"No Severus I have not," she replied evenly. She hoped her voice didn't betray her nervousness. He looked up from his watch abruptly to see her smiling slightly at him.

"Well if you see him, tell him to floo me as soon as possible, Hermione," he said before he turned to leave. The only time she had ever heard, and expected to hear for that matter, her name on his lips without the sneer or the undercurrent of sarcasm. It was a beautiful thing, a memory to cherish.

Or maybe not. Maybe today would be a turning point and he would be able to see her as a serious adult, (she had used her adult voice after all and to great effect,) and perhaps she would see past his spiky defenses and come to appreciate his inner strength of character.

She laughed at the absurdity of it. It was outrageous of her to even like him, going against all logic. And in the end logic would guide her.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked her, coming into the room.

"Oh nothing," she said quickly. "I was just laughing at something Severus said."

"Severus?" he asked incredulous.

"You know Ron….Professor Snape." He gaped at her. She briefly considered telling him what had transpired between her and the Potions Professor, but then decided against it. It was too personal a story to tell at the moment.

Besides if Snape ever found out he would kill her. He had begrudgingly forgiven her for calling him Sevie once but if discovered that she had told Ron and Harry she would never be able to drink anything without being afraid it was poisoned. It would be worse than living with the Twins.

She would bury the truth along with the other inconsequential happenings that never seemed to stick in one's mind. Someone could bring up the subject of the First Name Ceremony years from now and she would only respond with a vague, "Oh yes that was something wasn't it?"

Or…He might never know it but he would always be Sevie to her.

TBC

* * *

A/N: I'm afraid to admit that this is indeed based on personal experience. I had a professor in college, (whose stinging sarcasm in class reminded me of Snape,) who always called me Miss Kennedy. He missed the First Name Ceremony so I thought I was okay. But he caught me after Baccalaureate, shook my hand and said, "Congratulations _Jennifer_." He wouldn't let go until I called him by his first name, and caught unaware it just slipped out and I replied, "Thanks Cliffy." Dropping my hand, his only response was "Let's just stick to Cliff." I, of course, couldn't just leave it like that so I stood there like an idiot and explained how the whole nickname came about, (which included me doing an impression of the German professor,) while he stood there looking at me strangely. So there you go…I hope you enjoyed it, one of my more embarrassing moments but also one of my funnier ones translated into a fanfic. No go review, because as my name suggests, I suffer from great vanity. 


	4. Professor Snape

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed…**Vickie211**, (I'm working on posting at Ashwinder, starting with this story,) **Cherdy the Molologist,**(Cliffy is married, happily or not, I don't know. But thankfully I haven't seen him since; he's too much like Snape for me to really want to approach him after that! I miss his classes though.) When I first started this story I was going to end it with the last chapter, but after the immense response it has received I decided it must go on...so now I give you Snape's POV. Please let me know what you think.

**Chapter Four**

It had been several months since the Leaving Feast and only weeks since the headmaster had asked him to teach Miss Granger the Wolfsbane Potion, but it felt much, much longer to Professor Severus Snape. Before then she had existed only in his periphery, only occasionally making appearances in the forefront of his mind, and then only because Potter had dragged her into some sort of trouble.

But now he found he couldn't stop thinking of her and the disgustingly saccharine nickname she had bestowed upon him. They had had a conversation which should have cleared everything up, and for her that was probably case. She had acted like a mature adult, apologizing and explaining; an unspoken truce was declared.

However, now every time she called him Severus, he froze with anticipation and fear. Would this be the time she let it slip? He could tell by the slightest up turning of her lips and a small twinkle in her eye that though she had taken his threat seriously about pronouncing the name aloud again that she still thought about it. He was certain that in Hermione Granger's head she still called him Sevie.

And it was driving him crazy.

He wished Albus had never dreamt up the First Name Ceremony. He wished that she was still Miss Granger and that he could return to being Professor Snape full-time. He had proposed several days into their brewing that they call each other simply by their surnames. It had struck him as if like lightning, the perfect solution to his problem. She could be Granger and he would be Snape—no title, but no possibility of Sevie either. She hadn't taken to the plan.

"If that's what you prefer," she had said glumly, the look on her face telling him clearly that she, however, did not prefer it.

"Never mind," he snapped. "Call me whatever you like." She smiled at him mischievously.

"Within reason," he had warned.

"So no Sevie?"

"Definitely not," he snapped.

"Or Seviekins?"

"Are you trying to make me vomit, Miss Granger?"

"What about Potions Professional?"

"That one isn't so bad."

He could hardly believe he just stood there while she came up with more and more horrible names for him. It only proved that the girl had a bewitching effect on him. Anyone else who would have dared called him by Sevie or, god forbid, Seviekins, would have lived to regret it. But though his wand hand itched to hex her into oblivion for her blatant and continued displays of disrespect, he didn't do it. Maybe it was because deep down he knew that her teasing didn't come from malice or dislike but from affection, however misguided.

"I could call you P.P. for short," she said with a giggle.

"Your humor is decidedly low brow and immature, Granger," he snarled.

"Sorry, sir," she said abashed before turning her attention back to her work. Finally, the respect that he wanted, but at the same time it bothered him. She still called him Professor from time to time and it both reassured and frightened him. It reassured him of the fact that he was, in fact, still able to instill fear and respect in the likes of Hermione Granger, but the nasty twinge that he felt when she called him by his proper title scared him witless. It was as if a wall had been built between them with the mere pronunciation of 'Professor', and what little camaraderie and intimacy they had created while he taught her to make Lupin's potion disappeared. He had never had much resembling friendship in his life and he was loathe to lose what little he had even to the likes of Granger.

At first he had thought she had merely been making fun of him at the First Name Ceremony, that someone, (probably her friends Potter and Weasley,) had put her up to some sort of dare. It hadn't been the first time that someone had used the opportunity of the Leaving Feast to finally express their opinions about his teaching methods or what they thought of him as a person. Most were quite unoriginal in their accusations and he had had the last laugh with these sorts when he inconspicuously hexed them to trip as they strutted through the Great Hall, puffed up and believing themselves to be adults. It amused him greatly to watch as they fell on their faces, their first attempts to act as equals to the mature adults around them failing miserably. It was a consolation, albeit small.

But Hermione, Miss Granger, or just Granger, whatever he was supposed to call her now, had been different. She had approached him with her head held high. She had offered her hand and thanked him for teaching her. She had, unlike any past student he had had, acted like the mature adult he was supposed to pretend they were. Until she had called him by that _name_.

He had balked when Albus had asked him to teach her the more advanced Potions the Order required, but he had reconsidered when the headmaster had pointed out that since his role as a spy had been discovered he hadn't had much to do around but mope around 12 Grimmauld Place. Even the likes of Granger would be better company than that insufferable bird, Buckbeak or Molly Weasley, who had it in her head that she could somehow "cheer him up" or at the very least "fatten him up." No amount of sneering and snide comments had deflected her attempts and in his honest moments he admitted he was downright scared of the woman.

It hadn't been until the third week of their brewing that Severus admitted to himself that he might feel something more towards the young woman he was working with. Her hand had brushed up against his as she reached for ingredients across the table. These things happened, especially when two people were forced to work in the confined space that Severus and Hermione had been allotted at headquarters, but he noticed that he noticed.

"Are you alright?" she asked, apparently worried at the odd expression that crossed his face.

"I'm fine," he snapped. "Just be careful, if I had been holding a knife or adding ingredients you could have caused an accident."

"Sorry," she said, sounding chagrined but he wondered if it hadn't been punctuated with a Sevie at the end in her thoughts. He had been a spy for too long; he was becoming paranoid.

But after that he noticed every time he touched her. He could sense her presence, feeling colder when she wasn't around. When he said something that potentially hurt her feelings, he felt bothered about possibly alienating her. And it bothered him that that bothered him.

Why her of all people? Why couldn't he have liked someone like…? But he failed to think of anyone. Why not her? Hermione was a smart girl; her record at Hogwarts had proven that. She certainly wasn't intimidated by him, her brave words at the Leaving Feast had shown him that, and as he watched her bent over her cauldron he realized that she possessed a special type of beauty. All those clichés that he had been told as a child ran through his head, "beauty is in the eye of the beholder," and "don't judge a book by its cover."

Judging merely by her looks one might not even call her pretty, but taking her courage, determination, and intellect into consideration, it somehow transformed her frizzy hair, upturned nose, and slightly too large teeth into something worth studying. He assumed it was probably quite the opposite in regards to him. His large beak of a nose, crooked from being broken too many times, his yellow teeth, sallow skin, and greasy hair were made all the worse by the addition of his prickly personality.

"Come with me," he ordered her several days later. He had had enough mental torture. He needed to put this to rest as soon as possible, and he could think of only one way to do that. If he could show her that that idiotic game she had played was just that, then perhaps he could convince himself as well, finally earning himself some peace.

"But where are we going?" she gasped as he clamped his hand on her arm, pulling her into the fireplace with him. There was just enough room for the both of them, and she had to press herself up against him to avoid knocking her head.

"The Brown house," he said, both in answer to her question and as he threw the bit of powder to activate the floo.

TBC


	5. Severus

**Chapter Five**

They arrived at the home of Lavender Brown in a flurry of green flames and soot. Still clutching Hermione's hand, Severus pulled her from the fireplace into a drab living room, with anolive colored divan with matching chairs and an ancient coffee table covered in Witch Weeklys. It wsa decidedly an average, middle-class, wizard home.

"Professor Snape!" Lavender exclaimed, clearly surprised to see him immerging from her grate. "What are you doing here?"

It wasn't the politest way to greet a guest, but then again, she hadn't invited him, he had intruded. She had probably expected, (and most likely had hoped,) never to see him again.

"I want you to teach me that idiotic game you showed Miss Granger last winter," he said brusquely. Her mouth dropped open. He followed her eyes as they moved from his face, down to the hand that still held Hermione's, and then around him to where, apparently, Granger was hiding behind him. He pulled her forward and released her hand from his grip in one fluid motion, somewhat embarrassed that he held it for so long.

"You told him?" Lavender asked the girl incredulously. A red blush quickly crept across Hermione's cheeks and her eyes darted from Lavender to him and then to the floor. He didn't care if she was embarrassed or not, he was determined to have some peace of mind regarding this whole ridiculous situation.

"I didn't mean to," she protested. "It just…happened."

"The game, Miss Brown," he growled. Lavender looked back at him, her look of incredulity turning to intimidated.

"Of course," she stammered, "Sit down. I'll go find some pen and paper."

He sat down, tapping his foot impatiently, while Granger remained standing.

"Severus, is this really necessary?" She laid extra emphasis on his name, as though she were trying to assert that they were both mature adults who hardly needed a game to tell them their futures.

"Do you think I would have dragged you here if I didn't believe it was, Hermione?" he snapped. They waited in awkward silence until Lavender returned moments later with a quill and a roll of parchment in hand. Sitting on the couch, she adopted a serious pose and began questioning him.

"To start you pick six girls…I mean six women."

"Six!"

"Women you might marry," Lavender explained.

"Frankly, I can't think of one woman I might marry. I'm hard pressed to think of more than three that I can talk to for more than five minutes without wanting to hex them," he snapped.

"Umm, well…." Lavender looked nervously at Granger. "Hermione, naturally. So five more."

"Is there no option for remaining single?" he snarled.

"Just write down me and 'lonely bastard' five times, Lavender," Hermione snapped. He realized he might have hurt her feelings in this crazy endeavor to rid his thoughts of her. He decided to go straight to Albus when they got home and tell him he would be unable to brew any more potions for the Order if Granger insisted on being present. She would undoubtedly be unbearable after this.

"And now you choose six numbers at random," Lavender said. Reluctantly he gave her the numbers, choosing anywhere from zero to 38. He watched as the girl began mumbling to herself and began marking off at random the numbers and names she had just written down. There were letters across the top as well, spelling the word MASH.

"What _is_ all this?" he growled.

"Well the numbers are the possible number of kids you will have and the letters are for what kind of house you will live in," Lavender explained, showing him the parchment. He looked at her befuddled.

"M is for mansion, A is for apartment, S is for shack, and H is for house." He nodded to show that he understood. This game was a farce. It was outright laughable, but at the same time he had put all his hope in it. With equal fervor, he hoped it would come out on 'lonely bastard' and Hermione.

"But what if he lands on a number other than 0 but he doesn't have a wife?" Hermione asked. He smirked at her innocence.

"Perhaps I will succeed in overcoming my loneliness from time to time," he purred. She glared at him.

"You would have to overcome your being a bastard first," she retorted.

"It's possible," he said, a little miffed that she thought it impossible that he could charm a woman into bed, the fact that she was mostly right only added injury to insult.

"Thirty-eight times?" she asked skeptically. He clenched his fists and stared ruthlessly at her. She grew sulkier by the minute and the sulkier she got the cheekier she became. He kicked himself mentally for not having hexed her back in June when she had had the temerity to call him by that horrid name. If he had demanded her respect then, then perhaps now they wouldn't be arguing over his chances of reproducing in the near future.

"I have the results if either of you are interested," Lavender snapped. Hermione and Severus turned and looked at her. He held his breath while she read the results.

"According to this you're going to marry Hermione and live in a shack with two kids."

"Two kids?" Hermione asked indignantly. "Last time it was four!"

"It's not an exact science," Lavender said.

"Divination rarely is," Severus said sardonically. He thought about the prophecy the Order had worked so hard to protect several years ago or the one Trelawney had made in Potter's third year. Yes, they had come true, but they were so obtuse that actually figuring out what they meant before they happened proved almost impossible. Although this seemed fairly straightforward. One could hardly misinterpret these results. Lavender sniffed at his comment.

"I'll have you know that Divination is a respected branch of magic, recognized by the International Wizarding Council and taught at all the major schools, including Hogwarts."

"Yes, yes, Miss Brown, spare us the diatribe." He stood and grabbed the paper from her hands. She looked at him as though she might protest but then thought better of it. Granger didn't respect him but he still instilled fear in Miss Brown, it was something, at least. Besides, there was no way he was allowing her to keep such a damning document. He would destroy it as soon as he returned to 12 Grimmauld Place.

"We'll just be on our way," he said, moving towards the fireplace.

"Thank you, Lavender," Hermione said, looking at him pointedly. He motioned for him to join him.

"Come along, Granger, we haven't got all day."

"Don't you have something to say to Lavender, Snape?" He sighed with frustration. He didn't feel any feelings close to thanks toward the daft girl whose home he had invaded. If anything, she had made things worse for him by predicting, _again_, that he would marry Hermione Granger. But the girl was already sulky and irritable; he didn't want to stand here all day while she waited for what she thought was due to her friend.

"Thank you, Miss Brown. I had thought my future pretty bleak before now, but you have made being killed by revenge seeking Death Eaters seem almost appealing."

He looked at Hermione with a look that said, "There, are you happy?" The mixed look of embarrassment, horror, and hurt told him that she most certainly was not, but she got in the fireplace with him anyway. He didn't hold her hand on the trip home.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews!One of the biggest compliments I have received is to hearthat I have converted someone to the good ship HGSS.Welcome aboard to **Prissy,e-chan16, SuccinctRambling, **and **Mooncheese.** I suggestanything written by **Shiv5468** if you want some more entertaining, laugh out loud Hermione/Severus fun.Also a bigcongrats to **Cyranothe2nd** for correctly guessing the plotline. I hope to have the next chapter written soon, but I must warn you that once again its vacation time here in France, which means no internet accesswhen I am home and no laptop when I'm not. However, don't be too dismayed! My best ideas have come from sitting on long train rides trying to ignore the screaming kidin the back or the smelly person who decided to sitnext to me.


	6. Sevie

**Chapter Six**

Hermione hurried out of the fireplace when they arrived back to 12 Grimmauld Place. She had her hand on the door, opening it, before he could stop her.

"Where are you going?" he demanded as he brushed the soot from his black jacket.

"Anywhere you're not," she said still facing the door. He could see her shoulders rising and falling heavily, as though she was having trouble breathing. He would bet a hundred galleons that her cheeks flushed red and tears rimmed her eyes, but he couldn't see her face. Had their field trip to Miss Brown's upset her that much? Surely, she had had months to reconcile the idea that Fate intended them to be together, she had even taken to calling him that awful nickname. Or was seeing it a second time, a further validation that she was to marry him and live in a shack, was that what bothered her?

"Fine," he said sharply, watching as she left. He may not be crying but the visit to Lavender's had thrown him too. He had gone in the hopes of ridding his thoughts of Hermione, of convincing himself that it was nothing but a farce. He had never expected these results. He looked at the paper in his hand and sighed. Bright red ink circled Hermione's name and Miss Brown had further taken the liberty of adding small hearts around it. Each slashed line through a 'lonely bastard' condemned him. So these were his choices. A life spent as a bachelor, alone in the dungeon with his potions, or marriage and kids with a student who until a few weeks ago had been nothing more than a thorn in his side? It was intolerable! He needed a drink.

* * *

Hours and many drinks later he heard a soft knock on the door. Maybe it was Hermione coming to apologize; that would be nice.He wouldn't mind even ifshe wascoming to forgive him, he hadn't been terribly polite about this whole debacle. As long as it wasn't Molly come to feed him, he didn't care. A bushy haired, dry-eyed Hermione entered the room, her back straight and a stern look on her face. So she wasn't here to apologize or forgive, it appeared.

"Ah, I had so hoped it would be you, Hermie," he said, slurring a bit.

"You're drunk," she accused him, picking up the now nearly empty bottle lying on the table next to him.

"And so I should be. I played that ridiculous game of yours twenty times in a row and your name came up every time. A shack and three kids, a house with two, and god forbid, once with an apartment with eight—one more than the Weasleys! Can you imagine an apartment with eight kids! Where would we keep them? In the closet?

"It's just a game, Sevie," she told him.

"I knew it!" he exclaimed.

"Knew what?"

"I knew you still called me that in your head. You walk around here all the time, with that mischievous smile and that damned twinkle in your eye and I can just tell you're being disrespectful in your head! And now with this game!"

"You don't have to believe it if it's going to make you miserable," she said.

He knew that, but he liked being miserable; it was so much easier than trying to be happy. Besides believing it meant that somewhere deep down inside he believed that he wouldn't be alone forever.

"If I can resign myself to you not liking me then surely you can resign yourself to not liking me as well," she rambled on. She hadn't mentioned that she didn't like him, so did that mean that it was only his fear and distaste that stood between them and their eternal love?

"Why are you here?" he asked sharply. He had been happy to see her at first but he suddenly wanted nothing more than to see her gone. She represented everything he wanted but couldn't have, and it hurt too much to be reminded of that at the moment.

"I came to check on the potion. It needs to be stirred three times, counter clockwise every…"

"Every five hours, I know." Honestly! He was the Potions Professional here, not her.

"Have you done it?" she asked.

"No," he said, standing unsteadily.

"Good thing I came then," she said saucily.

He watched as she stirred the potion and walked as quietly as he could over to where she stood. He wanted to make sure that she did it correctly. He couldn't have her waltzing in here, acting as though she knew better than him how to brew the potion. Although it was a good thing she had, in his drunken state he had lost track of the time. Placing his hands on the table on either side of her, he trapped her against the workbench. The sides of his arms grazed hers, and the stray tendrils of her hair tickled his nose.

"I'm not resigned to anything," he whispered in her ear. She stiffened and then turned to face him.

"You smell like alcohol," she said, wrinkling her nose and ignoring his comment. By Salazar, she looked enticing and in his drunken state his higher cognitive reasoning failed him. She was no longer his student, so kissing her couldn't be wrong; he had been told twenty times over that he would someday marry her, and she called him Sevie for Merlin's sake!

He reached his hand out and tipped her chin up, brushing his lips lightly against hers. When she didn't pull away, he deepened the kiss, sliding his hand to the back of her neck. His other hand moved from the table behind them to the small of her back, pulling her close. She tasted like the strawberries, sweet but a little tart—just like her, he thought.

"You taste like alcohol too," she said when he pulled away from her. It wasn't the enthusiastic response he had been hoping for, but with all that he had imbibed, he deserved it.

"Are you saying I'm intoxicating, Hermie?" he asked glibly.

"Stop calling me that," she protested even as she giggled at his bad joke. He liked the sound of her laughter. It reassured him to know that besides having the power to make her cry that he could also make her laugh. She sobered quickly, too quickly in his opinion.

"Are you going to regret this tomorrow?" she asked nervously.

"Some of it," he said, thinking of the empty bottle laying on the table and the headache he was sure to wake up with in the morning. She stiffened in his embrace.

"Oh," she replied. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her tightly before she could move away.

"I'll certainly regret all the Firewhiskey I drank earlier, but not this." Not yet anyway. He might later when she left. When she inevitably discovered that his sarcasm and unpleasant demeanor wasn't an act like some thought but was, in truth, who he was. But then again maybe she wouldn't.

He hadn't told her that the last ten times he had played the game, he had added his own inventions. It didn't allow for the possibility of one partner leaving so he had changed it accordingly. MASH became MASHED; the E standing for evicted and the D for divorced. But as the alcohol had taken effect he couldn't decide whether evicted meant Hermione would throw him out of the shack or that they could no longer afford it and were thrown out together with their two to four kids. He tried MASH'D but that had just looked funny and divorced didn't really fall under the housing category. So he had replaced a few 'lonely bastards' with 'Hermione+divorce,' 'Hermione+leaves with another man,' and 'Hermione+throws me out for being snippy.'

However, to his surprise it never landed on one of these, always on just Hermione. The housing changed and the number of kids ranged anywhere from two to eight. He had learned after the first time to keep the numbers low, as much as he would like to claim that he was capable of fathering thirty-eight children, he was certain that Hermione would insist on his participation in their upbringing and that was something he certainly wasn't prepared for. But despite all this, it always came back to her, just her.

"I thought you'd rather be killed by revenge seeking Death Eaters," she said. She seemed determined to make this harder than it had to be. Couldn't they just keep kissing?

"I believe my exact words were 'almost appealing,'" he argued.

"Oh, sorry for misinterpreting," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. She had been spending too much time with him; she was starting to sound like him.

"You're forgiven," he said, smiling at the scowl she gave him. "Am I?"

She looked at him earnestly, searching his eyes for sincerity. Whatever she saw there, she appeared to like it because she smiled mischievously.

"I suppose," she answered. "Now go sit down before you fall over, you drunken slob. I have to tend to the rest of these potions."

He returned to his chair, watching her stir. Listening to her hum quietly to herself, he drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

TBC

A/N: Once again, I based this chapter on real life. My dad, before he married my mom, flipped a coin in order to make his decision. If it landed heads up five times in a row then he knew he was right in marrying her. It did. Just to be sure, he decided that if it landed tails up five times in a row then he was _really_ right in asking her. Once again, it did. The statistical probability of a coin coming up heads five times in a row and then five times tails is supposedly pretty narrow, the same as playing MASH and coming up with the same person would be, I suppose. Twenty-four years later, they are still happily married; they still hold hands, go on dates, and have the same silly argument every night before bed, (he doesn't like to go to bed alone and she likes to stay up and watch TV.)


	7. Severus and Hermione

**Chapter Seven**

Hermione didn't know when she had been so angry in her life, or hurt, or disappointed, or confused. They had left Lavender's house in a flurry of fire and smoke, with Hermione trying to pretend that the tears stinging her eyes came from the ashes and not from the daggers Snape had thrown at her while at Lavender's.

_I had thought my future pretty bleak before now, but you have made being killed by revenge seeking Death Eaters seem almost appealing_.

Why had she let herself become so attached, so close? He was a hateful, loathsome, mean, despicable, vile man who obviously detested her. She had been wary to work with him when Dumbledore suggested it would be wise to have more than one person around who knew how to brew the Wolfsbane potion, as well as the other Potions the Order required. She worried that even though they had discussed the Leaving Feast that he would find someway to make her life hell for having called him Sevie. But that hadn't been the case. Instead, she found herself enjoying working with him. Sometimes they bickered, but even then Hermione found herself trying hard to keep up with his caustic wit. It helped during those times to think of him not as Professor Snape, or even Severus, but as Sevie. She could argue and come close to winning with Sevie, (no one really won against him unless you counted a scowl and petulant silence as victory.) She could gently poke fun and laugh with Sevie. And slowly she found that she could be attracted to Sevie.

But the man who had dragged her to Lavender's this afternoon was certainly not Sevie, and she learned once again that Professor Snape had the power to make her cry. She had ended up in the kitchen, sobbing incoherently while Molly had made her some tea and gave her some biscuits. When she finally calmed down, she had a new resolve. He did not like her. He would never like her. And she would stop caring.

Her plan worked right up until he had asked her to forgive him. She hadn't even succumbed when he had kissed her, (well a part of her did, but she had tried valiantly to hide her surprise and pleasure by resorting to sarcasm.) She tossed and turned all night, and anxiously awaited his appearance at the breakfast table. He had said that he wouldn't regret things in the morning but he had been quite drunk so she didn't know what to think. A part of her knew that it was dangerous thinking like this, that her original plan was indeed the safest, but her mind was fighting a losing battle with her heart. Ironic really, that a girl who had let logic be her guide her entire life suddenly chucked it out the window. To her mild shame she had become like Parvati or Lavender.

Sitting next to Ron, she looked up when he entered the room. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he hadn't shaven. She wondered if he had taken the hangover remedy she had left for him.

"Good morning!" Molly chirped, setting down a cup of tea in front of him as he took a seat across from Hermione.

She suddenly became very interested in buttering her toast, her cheeks flushing red. All morning she had wanted nothing more than to see him, but now that he was here she couldn't bring herself to look at him. What if she saw regret or rejection? Was this Professor Snape, the horribly mean and strict teacher who insulted her and made her cry? Was this Severus, her lab partner? Or was it Sevie, the man who let her call him embarrassing nicknames and kissed her?

"Yes, it is," he murmured. She looked up at him. He never spoke in the morning, just grunting and scowling at Mrs. Weasley's attempts to get him to eat something more than a couple slices of toast. His eyes caught hers and she could see acceptance if not a little warmth. It wasn't love or even affection, but she could see that he was entertaining, at the very least, the idea that she might be his happy ending.

"What is everyone doing today?" Mrs. Weasley asked cheerfully.

"More defense spells this morning," Harry answered grimly. He had been almost unbearable recently. Though Hermione had tried her best to be supportive, secretly she would rather put up with Snape's snarling than Harry moaning about his fate. Maybe she should send Harry to Lavender. Maybe he would realize that Fate had more in store for him than just Voldemort and being the 'Boy-Who-Lived.' His reaction certainly would be better than Severus' had been.

"Look up, mate," Ron said, spewing bits of toast across the table. "We're going to see the Cannons tomorrow."

"That's not today, is it," Harry argued as he got up from the table. "You coming, Hermione?"

"No, I…we have some potions to work on this morning," she said, remaining sitting, her eyes still on Severus. He nodded almost imperceptibly. They didn't really have anything this morning to do, and until last night she had been planning on joining her friends in defense training but they had things to discuss. She looked back at Harry and smiled. "See you later?"

"Yeah," he said, looking at her oddly, but he left without commenting. Ron followed him out chattering about the upcoming Quidditch match. Hermione looked back to Severus, who was finishing his toast and tea.

"Shall we go up then," he said, standing.

"Certainly," she answered.

* * *

Severus woke up with an axe protruding from his head, as though someone had tried to kill him in his sleep but somehow had botched up the job. Moaning, he tried to open his eyes bit by bit but the light proved painful even in small doses. He sat up slowly, hoping he could make it from the chair to his bed in the adjoining room as painlessly as possible. And then he saw it. Sitting on the table next to him was a small bottle with a blue potion, and a note.

_I wouldn't want you to regret anything this morning. –H. _

He quickly swallowed the potion and felt his headache ebb away. As the pain faded, his stomach reminded him rather loudly that he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday at lunch. He headed downstairs, following his nose to the kitchen. He chose a seat across from Hermione and while Molly served him his tea and toast, he studied her. She seemed quite interested in her toast, which meant either it was very good this morning, though he doubted it, it was after all just toast, or she had doubts about what had happened last night. But if that were the case then why had she left him that note? Perhaps she worried that he had changed his mind. Yes, that must be it. And then she looked up and he met her eyes. He saw hope and promise there, he saw a shack with two kids or an apartment with eight, and the last thing he wanted to be doing was sitting in the kitchen with Potter and the Weasleys. He wanted to be upstairs in the lab, talking to her, holding her, kissing her.

They got up and left the kitchen together, walking just close enough to occasionally brush up against the other. On the way up the stairs, however, his mind turned from kissing Hermione to hellish images of Hermione yelling at him to take out the trash or to give the kids a bath. He saw eight children with a mix of greasy and frizzy hair running screaming through a tiny shack while he tried to keep from hexing them. He saw 'Uncle Harry' visiting.

He couldn't do this; it was too much pressure. Why did people feel the need to look into the future? Did knowing make it better? Was it in some hope that they could change things? Did he want to change things?

Entering the room, he brusquely ordered her to start brewing some more Pepper-Up Potion while he retreated to his room to tidy up and give himself some more time to consider his next move. Taking his time, he slowly dressed and shaved.

That game was a farce, whether he played it one time or a hundred, he decided as he pulled on fresh trousers. But did that mean he didn't like the idea that it presented him? It may not be "the" future, but it certainly could be if he chose it. The girl certainly had an effect on him and he had enjoyed kissing her last night. Given another chance, he thought he could elicit a better response than, "you taste like alcohol too." He wasn't ready for children, he saw enough during his classes, and he didn't know if he would ever be ready for a family of eight. Would she want that? Would she expect it?

He had finished dressing and stood standing staring at the door. Hermione waited for him on the other side and she expected some sort of discussion on the matter. She hadn't come up here this morning to brew Pepper-Up Potion they didn't really need. He would have to tell her something. Could he put into words all the doubts that he had? It seemed very vulnerable to do so—unnecessarily so. He wished, not for the first time, that he had never heard of Miss Brown's idiotic game, although Sevie was slowly growing on him.

Taking a deep breath, he swept into the room, where he found Hermione working like he had instructed her. She looked up at him expectantly and everything he had planned on saying flew out of his head.

"You should use a size four pewter cauldron for this potion," he said sharply instead. She frowned.

"All the size fours are being used for the Wolfsbane," she said. He walked up behind her and peered over her shoulder into the cauldron. Everything appeared to be in order, it bubbled cheerfully and the color appeared right. Very hesitantly, he placed his hand on the small of her back. He felt her tense and then relax back against his touch.

"Then this is the next best thing," he told her.

"That's what I thought." She nodded. He moved away and began monitoring the other cauldrons. They worked in companionable silence for the rest of the morning and he felt confident that she had understood his small gesture.

* * *

The next couple of weeks passed with slight changes in Severus' behavior toward Hermione. His hand could often be found on her shoulder or the small of her back while they worked in the lab. He no longer flinched if their hands brushed up against each other, (if anything, this seemed to happen with more frequency than before.) And if he came across her in the drawing room reading, instead of leaving or ordering her to do so, he would sit and discuss what she had read.

Hermione didn't mind that Severus wanted to take things slow. She was of no mind to walk down the aisle to the tune of wedding bells just because some parchment Lavender had told them that they should. But she wished he would hurry it up somewhat, come to some sort of conclusion. He had turned from the sarcastic bastard who flinched when he merely brushed up against her in the lab, to the same sarcastic bastard who now purposely brushed up against her in the lab. But that was hardly something she could base a relationship on, however much she wouldn't mind a repeat performance of that night, minus the copious amounts of alcohol. She debated on bringing up the matter herself when he finally said something one day while they worked.

"You're too young. I'm robbing the cradle," he said abruptly, not even bothering to look up from the roots he was cutting. It took Hermione several seconds to determine exactly what he meant. Ah, their potential romantic relationship.

"Well, you're too old—one foot in the grave," she retorted.

"Glad we got that conversation out of the way," he said sarcastically. She looked up to see his lips twitching in an almost smile. She knew he liked it when she could match him wit for wit.

"What's next on the list?"

"What will Potter and Weasley think?" he asked with a scowl.

"They'll hate it." And they would too.

"Good." She frowned at him. He smirked back.


	8. Just Hermione

**Chapter Eight**

Severus still hadn't kissed her. There had been one moment when Hermione thought for certain he would, but Ron had knocked on the door and Severus had pulled away faster from her than if she had cast a Blasting Curse. She had taken to kissing him goodnight on the cheek before she left the lab each night in the hopes of encouraging him. If she were to put her lips that closely to his, eventually she hoped that he would take the hint and kiss her. She finally got results on the third night.

"Goodnight," she whispered, tilting her head up slightly and pecking him on the cheek. She started to pull away, but he grasped her arms and pulled her close again. Hesitating, they took a moment to arrange their noses so as not to bump them. And then his lips were on hers, a gentle pressure, a slow rhythm.

"Goodnight," he said with a smirk when he released her.

"They always are when I'm with you," she whispered into his ear in what she hoped was a seductive tone. He looked momentarily shocked, and Hermione knew she had achieved her aim, but he quickly recovered.

"That's not what you were saying last week," he said sarcastically. She frowned at him.

"I refuse to argue with you anymore about the efficacy of belladonna in restorative potions."

"Because you know I'm right," he said before kissing her again. She had wanted him to kiss her, but not if he planned on using it as a tactic to win arguments. She never won as it was, and she never would at this rate.

"I'll never admit it," she argued.

"If you insist on being wrong then I suggest you go to bed," he said wryly.

"Yours or mine?"

"I need to finish this potion," he answered. He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose, and then pushed her towards the door, the one that led to the hallway and her bedroom, not the one that led to his room. Despite that, she made her way to bed with a dreamy smile.

The smile stayed plastered to her face as she put on her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed. It was even there when she woke up in the morning, as she dressed and made her way down to the kitchen for breakfast.

"Hermione, we need to talk to you," Harry said to her after they had finished eating. Ron stood next to him, looking serious and shaking his head in agreement. Nodding, she followed her two friends into the drawing room.

"We know about Snape," Ron said with no introduction.

"Know what about Snape," she said, trying desperately to hide her surprise, the smile suddenly gone. She was still adjusting to the idea that she was snogging her former Potions professor, and she wasn't sure she was quite ready to share that information with anyone else, especially Ron and Harry. What if it didn't work out? And to be honest, this was Severus Snape she was talking about here, so the possibility of either her hexing him into oblivion for some insensitive remark about her hair, friends, or potions, or him throwing a few silencing charms her way when she asked too many questions was very high. These sorts of things were not the things one built successful, healthy, and long lasting relationships on.

"Lavender told us about you two visiting her," Harry explained.

"And we figured it out from there," Ron said.

"Figured out what exactly?" she asked.

"Well you've been acting funny lately," Harry started.

"Staring off into space, grinning goofily, and you've been spending a lot of time up there in your makeshift lab," Ron listed. "We thought maybe you were under the Imperio Curse."

"But Ginny laughed, and said you were acting like you were in love," Harry said. "And after what Lavender told us, we logically assumed it had to be Snape."

"Okay, you're right," she admitted, amused to see their shocked faces. For all their 'detective' work, they had in their hearts, she guessed, hoped they were wrong.

"Listen, Hermione, that game of Lavender's is a hoax. We had her do it for the two of us and I ended up married to Bellatrix Lestrange, living in a mansion with 18 kids," Ron pleaded.

"And I'm supposedly going to marry Professor McGonagall," Harry said with a grimace.

"You would need a mansion for 18 kids," Hermione joked. But Ron didn't laugh.

"The point is that you don't have to do this," he argued. "You deserve better than Snape."

"I am not romantically involved with Severus because a stupid Divination parlor trick told me I should. I happen to enjoy his company."

"Does he like you back, and how could you ever be sure?" Harry asked. She bristled at his implication and contemplated giving him an earful. But then inspiration hit. There was one thing she could tell them that would convince them, she just hoped they would keep their mouths shut.

"I know because he lets me call him Sevie," she said conspiratorially.

"What!" they gasped.

"That's right," she said, "I called him that at the Leaving Feast as a joke. He threatened to hex me into next Tuesday then, but since we started working together he's loosened up a bit and every once in awhile I can get away with calling him that."

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "It must be love." She didn't tell him that Severus called her Hermie. She didn't want to give them any ideas, certain that they would use the awful nickname to torment her.

"Or something like it," she said, shrugging her shoulders. So, her stomach turned flips when Severus looked at her, and she looked for excuses to spend more time with him, and she thought he was handsome despite the hooked nose and greasy hair, she still refused to become a giggling goose of a girl over it. There may be no logic in love, she had decided, but she would slip no further towards Parvati and Lavender's regrettable behavior.

Besides, it was a nice change from her constant worrying. N.E.W.T.s were over, and as a result the fight against Lord Voldemort and his death eaters played heavy on her mind. Nightmares had plagued her in the months following school. This romantic relationship, this flirtation with Professor Snape, whatever it was, had been a welcome distraction. She didn't know if it would last or even if it was right to think like this, but she planned on enjoying it while it did, because at the moment it was the only bright spot in her otherwise shadow filled existence. Although, she briefly wondered if it would be as appealing now that other people knew. Part of the charm had been its inherent secrecy and danger of being caught. Only time would tell.

* * *

"Do you want to explain to me why Potter and Weasley are snickering as I walk by?"

Hermione stood cutting ingredients, and she tried hard not to cut off her finger when Severus stormed in and started asking questions.

"No," she said meekly, not looking up from her knife. If she looked up, she was dead. He would know instantly that she was lying, if he didn't know already.

"You told them, didn't you?"

"I may have said something," she said so softly it was a miracle that he even heard her. But he had taught for years, training his ears to catch the slightest hint of illicit conversation in his classroom that might distract a student from a dangerous potion.

"Something?" he bellowed.

"We never agreed to keep it a secret," she said, growing more indignant.

"No, I just thought that was common sense."

"Why? Why is that common sense?" She grew frightened. Was he ashamed of his attachment to her? Did he just want to use her? But that didn't make sense. If that were the case then he would have made some sort of move by now. He would have tried to take her to bed, but he had taken ages to kiss her again, and even now only occasionally took any sort of liberties with her person. She rather wished he would stop being such a gentleman. If she was the least bit experienced in the art of seduction, she wouldn't leave it up to him, but she was young and her experience only included notes passed in class and quick snogging sessions in abandoned corridors.

"Has it not occurred to you that this relationship," he motioned between the two of them, "might be considered inappropriate? That there might be those that would look down on the idea of a teacher seducing a recent student? That some might assume that we started this before you graduated?"

She looked at him surprised. Honestly, it had not occurred to her. She thought people might be more upset that it was Snape, a sarcastic, often cruel man who also happened to be a former Death Eater. The inappropriateness of the teacher/student relationship had never dawned on her.

"I never thought…"

"Clearly."

"But it isn't true!"

"No, its not. But we're in the middle of a war, if you haven't noticed, and we have little time for distractions such as these."

"Distractions as in people finding out, or distractions as in the relationship altogether," she asked, her voice more shaky than she would have liked.

"I don't know." It was all he said.

"So, what? Is this the end? What about the…the game?" she asked desperately. Resorting to mentioning the game, she knew she had reached the edge. No, not the edge, but the bottom. She had already fallen for him, she realized, stepping out over a deep ravine when she first allowed herself to call him Sevie. It had been a mistake. She had gone straight from formality to intimacy. She had reached the bottom, and he wasn't there to catch her.

"You said it yourself, it's a farce," he hissed, turning away from her. She gasped, dropping the knife on the table. He might as well have taken it and stabbed her.

"You didn't believe that. You played it twenty times. Are you admitting you were wrong and I was right?" She knew she had hit the mark when he turned angrily around to face her again.

"Fine, let's see what it has to say now. Get some paper."

She stared at him in disbelief. Surely, he was kidding. Did he really want to resolve this argument like this, with a stupid game? But she wanted him to believe in it, even if she didn't. If he did, he would stay. He would wrap his arms around her, kiss her again, and she would feel safe. She went to find some parchment.

Minutes later, they sat at the desk shoved into the corner, ready to begin.

"Are you going to give me names this time, or shall I write 'lonely bastard' again?" she asked pointedly.

"You, McGonagall, Pomfrey, Pince, Hooch, and Sprout."

Hermione felt an unwanted stab of jealousy. She thought he couldn't think of anyone he could stand more than five minutes, let alone marry. He had come up with these names awfully quickly.

"And you talk about the inappropriateness of dating a former student, what about a colleague?"

He ignored her, going straight to the next category, "0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5."

She didn't bother to comment on his unoriginality, but started calculating his 'future.' It wasn't long before she realized her dilemma. According to this, he would marry McGonagall, have 2 children, and live in a house. She paused.

"Well, what is it?" he demanded. She looked at him. She had a decision to make. Was this a casual fling, meant to get her through the lonely nights of this war? Or was she committed to seeing it through to its natural conclusion—I do's, children, and a life together?

"What do you want it to say?" she asked.

"I want it to say what it is supposed to say," he growled, looking daggers at her. He didn't want to answer that question, just like she didn't want to answer it, she realized. They both were trying to protect their hearts. They would get nowhere like that, and so she took a chance. With determination, she struck a line through McGonagall's name and circled her own. Besides, Fate had relegated McGonagall to Harry. She wouldn't dream of ruining his chances for happiness, she rationalized. And it was just a stupid game after all. Handing him the parchment, she waited for his reaction.

"This doesn't negate the need to be discreet," he snarled, meeting her eyes.

"I'll talk to Harry and Ron," she said, reaching her hand out to take his. She smiled as he let her. "If I mention that you threatened to poison their afternoon tea, I think the snickering will stop."

"It better," he said, but his lips curled up slightly.

"So, tell me, how long have you and Sprout been secretly pining for each other?" she asked playfully, changing the subject and the mood. He dropped her hand, frowning.

"I have potions to work on. Some of us have jobs to do," he said, evading the question. She stood up and followed him over to the workbench. He picked up her knife and started where she had left off.

"We used to wonder why you always prowled the halls at night, but now I see that you were on your way to moonlight trysts," she teased. He looked up from his ginger roots and scowled.

"As smart as you are, one would think you would know better than to tease a man holding a knife."

"I'll be terribly jealous the next time I see you talking to her, you know."

"Get out," he ordered, pointing the knife at the door. She moved closer to him, reaching up, and kissing him lightly on the lips.

"I'll see you downstairs later for tea."

"I'll make sure to remember my fastest acting poison. Something slower might be more painful, but knowing Potter he would somehow find a way not to die, and he would certainly make it melodramatic," he said before kissing her again.

"You're incorrigible," she accused him, heading for the door.

"You're insufferable," he called after her.

A/N: This would have been up sooner but I couldn't get it to upload, (I've been trying for days now.) Make it worth my frustration by reviewing please.


	9. Just Severus

**Chapter Nine**

Severus had been thinking about Hermione a lot since he had kissed her the second time. It suddenly seemed real, much more so than before, despite their 'discussion' about the relationship moving forward. He was a firm believer in that 'actions speak louder than words,' and kissing her last night had been his first action towards the unknown, the abyss of a relationship that would lead to four kids in a shack.

It had been hard to go from seeing her as an annoying student to the young woman that apparently Fate had deigned for him to marry. He couldn't kiss Miss Granger, or even Granger, really. And though she made the transition from Professor to Sevie without ever stopping at Severus, he, on the other hand, was having a bit more difficulty. But that didn't mean he didn't _want_ to kiss her. He just didn't want the moment ruined by a traitorous thought about her being his student, (even a former one,) entering his mind.

So, he had played things slow. He invented reasons why she should be in the lab with him instead of going to defense training with her friends, (he knew this might put her at a slight disadvantage later, but he hoped that her continued inexperience would mean that she would stay with him in the end rather than following her brash friends off onto the battlefield.) He purposely brushed up against her in the lab, his fingers lingering when he handed her a jar of ingredients. He particularly enjoyed looking over her shoulder, peering into her cauldron and effectively pinning her to the workbench. From that vantage point, he could relish the smell of her hair as it tickled his nose and the way her breathing increased at his nearness. When she had started kissing him on the cheek before she left the lab in the evening, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he wouldn't be able to resist pulling her close and kissing her properly.

He hated to admit it, but he was starting to care for the girl in a way that was completely foreign to him. At first, he had been entertained by their battle of words. He enjoyed riling her up just to see her eyes flash, waiting for her witty retort. He felt comfortable working with her, but at the same time, there remained an odd sort of tension between them. He couldn't seem to stop thinking about her. And after the debacle with Miss Brown, he had felt the first stirrings of lust. They had even survived their first real argument, real in that there had been a few tense seconds when both of them wondered if they would continue down the path that Fate had chosen for them. They argued most days, but this had been dangerous, the outcome unknown.

However, that idiotic game had proven once again that he was stuck with her whether he wanted her or not. And that was precisely his problem. He didn't know if she was what he wanted. It had been a long time since he had felt anything for a woman, he had been stuck in that dreadful house for months, and that insipid game all contributed to this relationship. Would she still want to spend time with him when this war was over? Would he want to spend time with her when it was finally revealed that he was not a Death Eater but a hero? There would be awards, recognition, maybe some money, and hopefully scores of women beating down his front door to console him after his long exile and years of mistreatment. Perhaps this relationship served just as a comfort in hard times. A comfort he would be hard pressed to give up now, but in the future…?

He snorted aloud. The idea of women wanting to tear his clothes off just because he lied to the Dark Lord was ludicrous. He hadn't even been all that good at it; he had been caught after all. It was the reason he was stuck making potions with Hermione in the first place. And let's not forget his boyish good looks and winning personality. But when he thought about it, it wasn't so bad. So he might not have legions of fans hailing him as a hero, but he did have one person who thought he was special. At least he could stand her presence for more than ten minutes, contrary to what he told her on a daily basis.

However, it wasn't until her idiot friends, Potter and Weasley had dragged her from headquarters in a foolish attempt to 'have fun' that he began to understand what that might truly mean.

They had returned after sneaking out without a chaperone to go to Muggle London. Within minutes of leaving the pub, they had run into Death Eaters. Weasley had been knocked unconscious, Potter had bloody slashes across his back and shoulders, and Hermione had a broken arm, a concussion, and a myriad of bruises. They had barely escaped with their lives, and he intended to let them know his wrath, especially Hermione. She had known the dangers, but had been unable to dissuade the other two, and as a result, she lay in bed while Severus ranted and raved at her.

"Of all the stupid, immature, ill-advised, ridiculous…," he roared.

"If you don't stop, I might start to think you don't like me," she said playfully in a raspy voice.

"I don't like you," he huffed, upset at her interruption. She was supposed to be feeling guilty, remorseful, maybe a little contrite for making him pace with worry when he had discovered they were gone. She should be apologizing profusely, begging his forgiveness for making him feel such things, for making him care. He wouldn't mind a few tears even, but here she was flirting with him!

She chewed on her lip, looking away, hurt by his words. He paused, looking at her intently. With that one look, she had succeeded in making him feel like the guilty party. What was she doing to him?

"Not like this anyway," he conceded. She turned back, and met his gaze.

"How do you like me, then?"

"In one piece," he said, reaching out and bushing the hair from her face. "Preferably not talking, although I'm certain that only happens when you're sleeping."

"Well, that's the only time you're not being mean and sarcastic," she retorted, frowning.

"You need to rest," he said smirking. "Your ability to argue coherently, and more importantly, maturely, has been impeded by both your injuries and insistence on spending time with morons such as Potter and Weasley."

"Don't call them that," she argued weakly.

"When they stop acting moronically, I will cease to call them morons. Tonight's behavior indicates that day is a long ways off. I fear it will never come."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? For spending times with two dunderheads who insist on dragging you into danger or for calling me mean and sarcastic?"

"For frightening you," she said.

"I wasn't frightened," he insisted perhaps a little too quickly. He hesitated letting her see just how much he cared; she might one day use it against him.

"Of course not," she said, patting his hand. He ripped his hand from her grasp, his anger returning full force. How dare she patronize him like that? How dare she take for granted the feelings that he had for her?

"Fine. I was frightened. Is that what you want to hear?" he said sharply. "That I was frightened, that I wore a hole in the carpet from pacing with worry, that I don't want to make potions without you, that I love you…." He stopped. She stared.

"You love me?" she rasped. There was no getting out of it now. The words hung heavy in the air.

"Of course I do, you irritating ninny!" She smiled at him serenely.

"I love you too, you know," she said, reaching up and placing her hand on his cheek. The knot in his stomach untwisted even as his heart fluttered. She loved him. She LOVED him. She loved HIM. He covered her hand with his, turning his lips and kissing her palm. He would probably regret this later, but at that moment, he didn't care.

A/N: You guys should not get used to me updating things like this so quickly. At the moment you are enjoying one of the very few benefits of being unemployed. That being said, the next chapter, (and consequently the end,) will be coming soon. Don't forget to review!


	10. Mr and Mrs Snape

**Chapter Ten**

Severus pulled Hermione into a dark alcove where he often found students snogging on weekends. Wouldn't it be ironic if one of them were to stumble upon him now, having deducted hundreds of points for doing just this? Of course, his intentions, if not honorable, were much more so than those of any hormone driven teenager. And from the way she responded, he surmised that Hermione didn't care too much about his intentions, honorable or not, as long as he kept kissing her. But that wasn't the reason he had dragged her back here, not the main reason anyway.

"How about a mansion and no kids?" he asked, pulling back and studying her face. He wanted to memorize the look that crossed her face as comprehension dawned; it was priceless.

"That's the most romantic proposal I've ever heard of," she said. The sarcasm in her voice was not lost on him.

"It's the best you can expect to get, from me anyway. I can't comment on your numerous other suitors."

"You know you're the only one for me," she purred into his ear, making his blood run hot. He pushed her further into the wall, covering her mouth with his.

"Well?" he said, finally lifting his head.

"A house and three kids," she countered with a mischievous smile.

"A mansion and one."

"Do you even have a mansion?" she asked.

"Have I finally hit upon the one question that you are incapable of answering?" She frowned, while he scowled. It was unfair of her to make him squirm like this, waiting for her reply.

"Yes," she said after several moments. It had felt like an eternity to him.

"Yes what?" he asked, just for clarification. Yes, she would marry him or yes, he had asked the one question she couldn't answer.

"Yes, I'll marry you, Sevie."

"I believe I once told you I wouldn't marry you if you called me that horrible name."

"Are you taking back your offer, then?" she asked saucily.

"No, I'm just warning you, Hermie, that I won't tolerate such nonsense from any future wife of mine," he said while he nipped at her neck.

"Consider me warned."

"Good," he said. Straightening up, he looked deeply into her brown eyes while pushing the hair away from her face.

"I love you," she said softly.

"I love you too," he replied, taking her hand and leading her from the tiny alcove. They walked in companionable silence for several minutes, until he noticed she was peering up at him, curiosity crossing her features.

"What?" he snapped.

"Do you really have a mansion?"

"Is it really important to you? Are you marrying me for my money?" he asked sarcastically.

"No," she said somewhat chagrined.

"Good, because I don't have a lot."

"But you have a mansion?"

"A castle, really—Snape Castle in the north of England. It's drafty, damp, and haunted by several annoying ghosts."

"No wonder you like the dungeons—it's just like home."

"Except further away, which is its biggest asset." She smiled, but didn't say anything more.

They walked on but instead of leading them down into the dungeons towards his rooms, he took her outside. It was nice to be back at Hogwarts. Ironic really, since he had once likened it to a prison. But it had been better than 12 Grimmauld Place, and anything was better than Azkaban. Now that the war was over, he was free from both places. He had already turned in his resignation letter, and had rented a small cottage. He knew Hermione had accepted his former position as Potions professor, and he hoped that they could live in marital bliss, (or as close to it as he could hope to achieve,) in Hogsmeade.

Wandering around the grounds, hand in hand, he was surprised at her continued silence. He rather thought after he proposed to her, (and she had accepted,) that she would be all atwitter about the details of their wedding, the details of their marriage, the details of their future life together. He was a little dismayed at her lack of enthusiasm, frankly, especially after he had prepared himself for such an onslaught.

"Not that I'm complaining, but why are you so quiet?" he asked. She looked up at him in surprise. He had interrupted deep thoughts indeed.

"I cheated."

"What?" he whispered, dropping her hand as if he had been burned. Was it Potter? A Weasley? When had it happened? And in Merlin's name why was she telling him about it now, right after accepting his proposal of marriage?

"When we fought that first time, really fought, and we played that stupid game again…well, you were supposed to marry McGonagall, but I cheated and circled my name instead. I just didn't think we should give up because one time out of twenty-five times it didn't come out me." She wasn't making any sense…what game?

"So you've never slept with Potter?" She gaped at him.

"No! Oh no! Is that what you thought?"

"Or Weasley? You've never kissed them, touched them, or even thought about them in the same way as me?"

"No, no, no. I cheated on the game; I would never cheat on this relationship. I just thought you should know. You seemed to put all your faith in that game, and I wanted you to know that it didn't always come out me, but that I chose you. And well, now that you know, I hope you choose me too." She wiped a tiny tear that had escaped, and he felt a twinge of guilt. But really, what was he supposed to think when she said 'I cheated.' Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her forehead.

"I do choose you. Without a Dark Lord to spy on, an Order to make potions for, and, thank heavens, no more dunderheads to teach, my life would be very dull indeed without you there to nag and irritate me." She frowned at him, and he realized that perhaps this was not the time for sarcasm. "What I'm trying to say, is that I love you. You make my life worth living and I look forward to our life together."

"No matter what a silly Divination parlor trick says?"

"Well, I can't totally discount it. It did light the spark," he said, nuzzling her hair.

"I suppose it did." She kissed him, softly, lightly. "But I still think that Divination is utter rot."

"Whatever you say, Hermie."

"Shut up and kiss me, Sevie."

"Did you tell them it was just a game you learned at your muggle primary school?" Parvati whispered to Lavender.

"Of course not. Do you think they would be getting married if they thought it was a hoax?" Lavender hissed.

"I suppose not," Parvati conceded. "I wonder why Hermione didn't know, she is muggleborn after all."

"She probably had her nose stuck in a book and couldn't be bothered to play silly games with the other girls—the same as at Hogwarts." Parvati nodded in agreement. Suddenly she grabbed Lavender by the arm.

"You don't think it really is real, do you?" she asked nervously, almost panicked.

"No," Lavender answered. "Why?"

"I'm just thinking that 'Ravenclaw nose-picker' came up a lot for me." Lavender tried to stifle a laugh but she ended up snorting nonetheless.

"Don't laugh," Parvati snapped. "If it is a true predictor then you are going to marry Crabbe."

"No, I'll marry Oliver Wood," Lavender replied tersely. It was Parvati's turn to laugh.

"In your dreams," she retorted. Lavender crossed her arms and turned her attention back to the proceedings. It was a beautiful ceremony, even if it was Hermione and Professor Snape.

The END

A/N: 'Ravenclaw nose-picker' pays tribute to my sorority sisters who often wrote down 'Rolly Back Pack Guy' on my lists. There was also a guy named Bob, but insisted on spelling Bahb. This is what happens when you go to a tiny private college in the middle of nowhere, but it makes for good fan fiction.Don't forget to tell me what you think ina review!


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